It's all about your trouble an' strife
by Doesanyonegiveaf-aboutchickens
Summary: George is happily married to Hermione; but what happens if one day Fred decides to play the ultimate prank. Written for the Twin Exchange Monthly Challenge. Rated T for mild language and allusion to sex.


**This is written for The Twin Exchange's May Challenge.**

**Prompt: Kitten/Puppy **

**Pairing: George/Hermione**

**Quote: "Shake your groove thang!"**

**If you like this story please vote for it on The Twin Exchange's forum page, link is on my profile.**

George sat uncharacteristically quiet, eating a large bowl Weetos with a very bent spoon. He couldn't exactly remember how the spoon had come to be so misshapen, but perhaps it could be noted he'd been clenching it rather tightly in his fingers when he realised what had happened. All the same it was still excellent in its scooping up food abilities.

In his other hand he was using his wand to jab at a set of robes that had somehow turned into a small strapless dress, very sexy but definitely a dress. More irritating was the fact that they were supposed to be the robes he wore to the Ministry function tonight.

_Hermione is going to kill me_, the thought wasn't at all comforting, but rather worrying.

George scooped up more Weetos, hastily ramming them into his mouth; there was no way he was going to utter a sound. If she woke up, and found out he'd ruined the robes she had meticulously laid out for the occasion, well it didn't do to think about it.

The rule was, and always had been; that there were to be no pranks of any kind when Hermione had important SPEW dinners or functions for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; specifically for the rich and famous Witches and Wizards of society in order to promote new Wizarding Acts of Government, as well as organisation fundraising. It had been implemented shortly after they had got married, when George had slipped Ron a packet of Wise'up Wine Gums during Hermione's speech about the welfare of Werewolves in the United Kingdom, and the Ministry's latest legislation in Werewolf Human Rights. It was her pride and joy, weeks of a glowing happy Hermione. The sex had been brilliant.

Ron had smiled at him gratefully, dinner hadn't arrived yet and obviously he was starving. George had maintained afterwards that Ron should have known better, it wasn't his fault his brother was stupid enough to eat an entire packet of sweets which made your nose hair grow at an alarming speed. In fact, who even knew Ron had so much nose hair anyway. The sight of his youngest brother with hair gushing forth from his nostrils into an enormous pile in his lap, growing higher and higher before it finally stopped just as it reached the ceiling, was enough to make George and Harry roar with laughter. George wished Fred had been there to see it, but alas he was back in the shop. Sadly, although many others had found the incident amusing, Hermione did not.

The rule had been dutifully followed for the last three years, George had solemnly promised, yes rather ironically, that he would be on best behaviour for all following events. When he had told Fred, his twin eloquently called it, pussy-whipped behaviour. Of course, it didn't stop him from pranking his wife, family and friends on an almost daily basis; she could hardly deny him that.

Yet, as George dejectedly chewed mouthful after mouthful of Weetos, muttering after each swallow, the robes were not transfiguring back, instead they seemed to be changing to a number of garish colours. He'd laughed at first, because obviously he wasn't expecting his best robes to transform into something of the female persuasion. Nonetheless as the colours had changed the mirth had slid into unease and thus had ended in quiet dread.

When he had finished his bowl of cereal, he racked his brains for a solution to his now rather tricky predicament. It was a Saturday, Madam Malkin's would be open in fifteen minutes, and surely he could go and buy another pair to replace these ones. Hermione would never know, until she looked at the accounts when taxes were due. He could cross that bridge when it came to it.

Sighing as he washed up his bowl and spoon, buying time; she'd notice the difference, she always did. George skipped the shower, opting to brush his teeth and just cast a hurried cleansing charm at the stink zones. He dressed himself in the first clothes that came to hand, from the washing pile neatly stacked on the dining room table. By the time he'd finished, he knew that most of the shops in Diagon Alley would be open, utilising every spare second, he crept out of the door and made his escape.

* * *

The cool morning air of May breezed over his skin pleasantly, and George found himself enjoying the short walk towards the Robemaker's shop. There weren't very many people out so early on a Saturday morning, as most were enjoying a well deserved lie in. Much like his beautiful wife, all tucked up under the covers, dreaming of a world in which House Elves were the Masters and Wizards were their slaves.

The display was nothing like their humble shop window, filled with manikins of elegant Witches' robes of pastel colours, pink, blue, and green all flowing yet figure hugging. He pushed open the door with a small tinkle of the bell announcing a customer's arrival; Madam Malkin was propped up on a rickety chair examining hems with a huge magnifying glass.

"Mr Weasley," she beamed, recognising him. George knew that Fred came in here a lot, because he was pretty careless with his work robes and they ended up with huge holes and stains down the front whenever he set foot inside the Inventing Room. Stains they could deal with, holes, not so much. "I have a set already made, it's been a fortnight since your last purchase, so I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon."

George smiled feeling uncomfortable, "Erm, it's actually George. I am in a very desperate situation Madam Malkin; and if you don't help me, my wife is going to kill me the muggle way!" He said in a rush, fear leeching into his voice.

Whatever Madam Malkin thought of him, she clearly was used to seeing Wizards in a tight spot due to their wives. Her sleeves became rolled up and she hopped off the stool in a much sprightlier manner than he would have expected from a lady of her age.

"Say no more Mr Weasley, dress robes was it?" She winked, ushering him into the back room for measuring. George followed meekly, his palms sweating profusely as he stepped onto the short stool.

"Obviously, I have your brother's measurements to hand, so I think only a few touches here and there," as she spoke her wand poked him gently in the belly, a thin aging tape measure whizzing out of the end. "As I thought, you're a little bit bigger than Mr Weasley."

George looked down at his waist line, he was fatter than Fred? When had this happened? "My- my wife is a good cook." He mumbled, feeling if possible even more embarrassed.

"Not by much," she quickly amended; but the damage was done. "What colour were you looking for, something smart or eye catching?"

"Smart, it's for a Ministry event. My best robes, accidently got transfigured into a dress this morning."

Madam Malkin tutted sympathetically, wand prodding his arms instead. "Well, I have no fixed engagements this morning, so it shouldn't be a problem." Her reassurance was a blessing, and he thankfully smiled at her. "Here, let's pop these on and I'll alter them to size."

George didn't say anything, but allowed her to swathe him in a mass of black velvet material, it was more luxurious than the robes Hermione had laboriously ironed and hung up the night before; but if they were fancier that was good, right? He could feel her pinning the hems carefully, as she muttered about the right length. Starting first at his feet then moving onto the sleeves and the neckline.

"Almost done Mr Weasley," she panted whilst she balanced on tiptoes, pinning away as she went. "I'll just nip out the back to find you some nice lining, just for a touch of flair; I know you boys are partial to."

He grinned, and said "thank you," watching her short figure disappear behind heavy set curtains. She was gone for only a few minutes, the sound of snipping scissors and shuffling of boxes moving around echoing out to greet his ears.

"I've found the perfect blue satin, it match-" Madam Malkin said as she came back carrying a small pile of material, but she fell silent as she saw him. "Mr Weasley?"

George frowned, "what it is Madam Malkin? Is something wrong?" He looked at her in confusion, at the open mouthed expression on her face. His eyes wandered down to the robes that had been pinned into the latest Wizard fashion, except they weren't robes any longer.

"It's-" He whispered in horror, a nervous laugh developing in his chest. "It's a-"

"A beautiful dress," Madam Malkin murmured, her surprised replaced by awe, as she dropped the blue satin in favour of touching the new velvet swirly patterned evening gown, complete with a lace over skirt, and a sequin trim. He looked ridiculous.

Suddenly, it made sense; racking his brains George tried to remember if he'd eaten or drunk anything suspicious in the last 24 hours. With a sinking feeling he realised that he'd been at the Leaky Cauldron last night with Fred, moaning about how boring his Saturday night would be meeting all those toffee nosed Ministry Officials at the annual Electoral presentation, they were due a Government reform under the capable hands of Kingsley Shacklebolt who'd just been re-elected.

Rapidly the cogs in his brain whirring, it all clicked into place; Fred had slipped him something, or even worse hexed him in some way to cause mischief in a very temperamental thing, his marriage.

"Look," He started, twisting his head to see if there was a zip or buttons to get out of the thing. "I'll pay for this, but you keep it, okay?... Could you help me get out of it?"

Her smile returned, "whatever you say Mr Weasley." Madam Malkin was nothing but tactful.

"Can I borrow your fireplace for a moment? I need to get hold of someone rather urgently." He added, as she levitated the gown over his head.

She nodded, biting her lip to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. George guessed the sight of him in a posh frock was a little bit too much. He reached for his clothes, that he'd discarded on the chair besides the stool, designated for the waiting husband or shopping companion. It was the first time he'd taken a good look at what he'd been wearing; a mini-skirt and crop top. Because he had been enjoying the morning so much, he simply hadn't noticed how much skin had been exposed to the elements.

Sweet Merlin, Fred had gotten him good.

Madam Malkin's fireplace was conveniently also behind the curtain; he ducked behind it hurriedly wanting to avoid further embarrassment. George borrowed some of her floo powder, and chucked it into the fire before ramming his head into the green flames whilst shouting Fred and Lee's address with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.

His living room was empty and deathly quiet.

"Fred? Fred you filthy git, what in the name of Azkaban have you done to me? She's going to set the birds on me if you don't fix this!"

There was no reply, not even a muffled snigger.

He sighed dramatically, wrenching his head back out of the fire.

"No luck?" Madam Malkin called back to him sympathetically. "Maybe you could try Muggle clothes, whatever joke he's played on you may not affect Muggle clothing?"

It was an excellent suggestion, and the best idea he had to go with at this point. George thanked her profusely as he exited her shop and she in turn wished him the best of luck with a merry wave. George spun and disapparated into the fragmented sunlight.

* * *

The streets beyond the Wizarding community were already flooded with people out bagging good deals; George learnt quickly that in May there were rather a few sales occurring as many of the red signs in shop windows clambering for customers attention indicated.

Slipping into a brisk pace, he paid no heed to the stares, followed hordes of Muggles towards the department store at the end of the road. It was called Debenhams and all walks of life seemed to be attracted to its 'Blue Cross Sale', it seemed unique in comparison to the competitor's red ones.

Muggle menswear was significantly smaller than women's, but had a suitably smart section dedicated to suits and ties that he deemed appropriate for a formal function. Surely as long as it was smart it wouldn't matter, besides it was a novel idea and he was reassured in his eccentricity that it would be able to pull it off.

An assistant that hovered by the changing room, gave him a distasteful glare, as George began to grab shirts and trousers, there was no time to be picky. Consequently the attendant grew more agitated; George was ruining her neatly organised racks and shelves with the chaos that trailed in his wake.

"Sir, can I be of assistance?" She asked, finally having marched up to him, peering at his armful of clothing with no real reference to size or complementary colours, only those he liked which were first to hand.

He sighed in relief, "I want a nice get up for an important Min- Government function," he bit his tongue noting his almost slip up. What was that about the International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy?

A sceptical eyebrow rose, clearly having taken in George's haphazard apparel; it was odd he'd always thought he had nice legs. Maybe it was because he was wearing his scruffy trainers with this mini-skirt.

"Do you know your size?" the lady said as she took away his offending selection and re-ordered the display back to its original state with a graceful ease, taking her mere moments rather than arduous minutes.

"Er-" George started, but stopped knowing full well he didn't. Muggle clothes sizes had always confused him.

Surprisingly she actually smiled at this, and started choosing 3 pairs trousers in various shades, as well as 3 different formal shirts, "try these on, and tell me how they fit. You aren't the first to come in here a little clueless."

Relief flooded through him as he accepted her choices and moved to the changing room to try them on. As soon as the door shut, and he divested himself of his skirt and crop top, the formal trousers felt natural and comforting to step into. The sales assistant was spot on his size, George guessed it was because he'd had so much skin on show there hadn't been much left to the imagination.

He glanced into one of the three mirrors to admire what formal Muggle garments looked like on him, he'd only ever worn casual Muggle clothing before now. Nausea drained away the last of the colour in his cheeks; it was a floral summer dress, green with large mauve flowers printed intermittently. His blue eyes downcast and miserable stared back at him, hairy legs poking out of the thin material, stood in just his socks.

When the sales assistant returned after ten minutes, she knocked on the door. As she did it opened to reveal the neat pile of menswear, and a crumpled summer dress. The strange man in the mini-skirt was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

George knocked loudly on Lee Jordan's front door, he'd gone home first to collect the dress robes, and it might be that someone else could transfigure them back. Plus, it always helped that Lee had had a brief stint in Weasley Wizard Wheezes, therefore together they might be able to work out what it was exactly that Fred had done to him.

Hermione had been in the shower when he'd snuck in, so he left a note saying that Ron had called him down to the shop due to a dire shortage of nosebleed nougat. He knew that she wouldn't be too worried; moreover she would be busy herself preparing her speech on behalf of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Lee didn't answer the door immediately, and George hopefully wondered if it was because Fred was still there. He'd assumed that when he'd floo'd Fred earlier Lee had still been asleep.

When the groggy man appeared, his dreads tied back into an odd sort of bun at the side of his head, he didn't seem too pleased to see his boyfriend's twin.

"George? You know it's ten in the morning right? I did a night shift at the Ministry last night." He said grumpily, seeming not to notice George's state of apparel.

"Where's Fred?" George demanded, hands on his skirt clad hips.

"Weren't you with him last night?" Lee asked, yawning widely, his back cracking with the effort. "He wasn't in bed when I got home, so I assumed he stayed at yours last night?"

"No, not mine. Listen mate, I have a problem." He said anxiously. "Can I owl him from here?"

Lee nodded letting him enter their flat, "knock yourself out."

The former dress robes were an exceptional shade of royal blue, rather small and he suspected very tight fitting strapless number.

"What's that?" Lee inquired after a moment, peering at the garment. "Is it for Hermione?"

George felt like crying, "no... it's my formal dress robes. I don't know what Fred's done to me Lee... I really don't."

His friend's brows furrowed into a precise crease. "I'm sorry George, I'm not sure that I understand." He inclined his head, prompting George to continue with what he was saying. But the former's attention was transfixed upon a small bit of parchment that he was scribbling on furiously, he called to Fred and Lee's owl Dungbomb who dutifully allowed him to attach the note to his leg, and flew out the window.

It was then Lee finally noticed what George was wearing and started to chortle. "Is that... what are you-"

"He slipped me something, something I don't know about," He interrupted, standing up unhappily. "Everything I wear, turns into women's clothing. I've been to Madam Malkins for new dress robes and to a Muggle department store and both times they transform into dresses. So I know it's not just this. But Hermione's Ministry presentation is this afternoon and I promised that I'd never play a joke at one. She'll kill me Lee.

"At first it was funny, I laughed too. However I can't transfigure these dress robes back; she chose them especially. I can't ruin her Ministry thing; I don't know what to do."

Lee on the other hand couldn't stop himself from laughing at George's predicament. He attempted through giggles to transfigure them himself, but had to stop to calm himself down in case he ended up setting them on fire.

"Lee, this is serious," George reprimanded, jerking the dress at him angrily.

"Put them down will you, if you keep touching them they might still stay a dress," Lee took a big breath, and focused intently on the dress robes that were now sat on the coffee table. "_Mulier virinduvia," _He said in a muted tone.

As they had correctly predicted, without George's interference the dress became the dark set robes that had been previously, with a subtle navy blue trim. George breathed a sigh of relief, and reached for them hesitantly. They didn't change back to their previous state.

"Thank you, so much." He whispered reverently, the sweat had started to form from the tension finally broke out, and beaded moisture along his hairline.

"No problem mate, although I should've liked to have seen you in that dress." Lee smirked, chuckling again.

"I can't say I agree, I've had my fair share of dresses this morning." George retorted hotly, holding his renewed robes tenderly as though they were a small child. "When I find Fred I'm going to hex him so far into tomorrow, he'll need a time turner to get back."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, usually at the end of a prank it was all smiles and laughter, but Lee had to agree that maybe this was one step too far, especially since Fred's brother was married to a fairly formidable witch.

"What are you going to do now?" He said amicably, moving through the flat to the kitchen where he filled up the kettle, popped it on the stove and prodded the flames alive with his wand.

George shrugged, "I'll make an appearance in the shop, see if Ron needs a hand with anything, to be on the safe side. You know how useless he is at restocking; at least he isn't as clumsy as you though. You're worse than Neville in a room full of china plates." He muttered darkly, remembering the fate full day when Lee dropped the entire stock of Peruvian instant darkness powder.

"Hey, that wasn't my fault. Fred was very distracting!" Lee protested as the kettle began to shake and whistle.

"I was trying not to notice thank you very much, you guys make me feel like a third wheel," he said in mock sadness, but secretly very happy that his twin had chosen such a well matched partner.

Lee reappeared with tea, in a familiar chipped mug that belonged to Fred; George accepted it gratefully before looking back at the robes. "Do you reckon I should try them on, just in case?"

His friend nodded wisely, from experience he knew there weren't usually many loopholes to the twins magic, it was aggressively strong, and although for the most part temporary it was bloody hard to over ride what had already been designed and tested.

George took a massive slurp of tea, it was piping hot and burnt the roof of his mouth; he'd take the pain, it would be worth it, if this Ministry do went well he'd been a very lucky boy for the rest of the month. Hermione was one wild girl in the bedroom; that, he couldn't deny. Marriage certainly was a fine art.

The robes slipped over his head with well practiced ease, and fit comfortably over his arms and torso, he spun around watching them flair with the inflow of air. In horror he watched as they morphed and changed before his eyes.

Lee snorted, "Looks like I got my wish after all, mate. Woo, shake your groove thang!" He leered, giving a wolf whistle.

George's stomach went hollow; he was in a floor length emerald A-line scoop neck ball gown, with glass beading across the waist and tulle netting, ruffled skirts that seemed to poof around his legs. The straps were thick and seemed to cling to his shoulders, making the area for boobs flat instead of ready for breast action.

"Dumbledore's saggy left bum cheek," He exclaimed in dismay.

"It suits you, I mean flamboyant was always your style," Lee added helpfully.

"Change it back, change it back!" Was the only reply, George snatching up his wand and resuming the jabbing and muttering he had been doing earlier that morning. The dress flickered from emerald to pink, making him look more like an incredibly butch princess. He was just missing his crown.

"Stop, George... you're making it worse!" Lee said, grabbing the wand out of George's hand and instead flourishing his own. "Watch a master at work, Son."

Lee reproduced the same jabbing motion and muttered the same spell as before. However, this was not the result either of them had been expecting. It settled on an alarmingly bright shade of yellow, and would not budge to another colour when they tried.

George was now stuck the same shade as a Muggle highlighter pen, his red hair adding to the effect; he resembled a road safety device.

He'd gone white as a sheet, and attempted to wrench the gown from his person, but alas it was stuck fast.

"Son of a banshee. I can't go with Hermione. I'll owl her and tell her I'm sick." George moaned, sinking back into the sofa and burying his face.

"I don't think she'll accept that answer without proof." Lee said sardonically. "You need to show her."

"No way, absolutely no way am I showing her this," he gestured to himself with a maniacal glint in his eye. "I promised her I wouldn't play a joke when she had important work things. I promised on my life. I'll never get another blowjob again!"

"It's not so bad, if you wear these," Lee stated having put on a pair of sunglasses.

"Yes, I'll ask everyone to put on shades before I arrive, shall I? I can just see that going down well."

Lee just laughed, in fact, he couldn't stop laughing. It was certainly a sight for sore eyes. "Bribe your wife!"

George rolled his eyes, "somehow I don't think a new book is going to cover this."

"A puppy might, girls go for that kind of thing, right?"

"Have you seen my wife? She is not a normal girl. She's like a Jack Russell, all cute to look at but as soon as you piss it off... BAM, it gets you in the ankle." George all but shouted in exasperation.

"What about a kitten?" Lee continued undeterred by George's rising tone.

"You're useless. I need professional help."

* * *

This was how George ended up at his own shop, in desperation Ron was almost the smartest person he knew. However, he'd taken one step into the moderately crowded shop, full of excited children and their parents; it had gone dead silent as absolutely everyone saw him.

"Mr Weasley, is that you?" Verity had asked, shielding her eyes to look at him.

Then the laughter started.

"Er, you know what never mind." He'd stammered and tripped back out again.

* * *

Having gone passed the stage dedicated to humour, George had quite clearly hit mortification level 983. He had no choice, there was no fix to this, and the dress was firmly stuck to his body, skirt twirling as he power walked straight to the Magical Menagerie. There was absolutely no point apparating any further, he would just have to deal with the fact that he was now a cross dresser.

The shop smelt strongly of crap combined with the racket of hissing and hooting was slightly overwhelming, but George ignored it all and walked straight to the witch at the counter. He noticed their stock of puffskeins weren't selling very well, and proudly realised the cause was probably due to the popularity of their pigmypuffs.

"Hello," he said gawkily, noticing her eyes had widened upon noticing his... outfit. "I need a puppy."

She gave him a sceptical look, "Dogs are not usually a popular animal," the witch said loftily.

"I need a puppy," George repeated feeling an edge of hysteria leaking into his system. "If you don't sell them, who does? I need one now."

She blustered, her eyes narrowing. "I can't just sell a puppy to you, I'd need to know about the home it will be going to, and how you plan on caring for it. A dog is a serious commitment young man."

George sighed, "I promise to you right now, I will look after this puppy so well, you'd think it was royalty. Please just let me buy a puppy."

"What kind of dog are you particularly interested in? Because upon the understanding of the commitment and full time care you will be undertaking, this is not a spur of the moment decision, is it?"

There was that word again, commitment. Why couldn't he just buy the bloody dog and be done with it?

"Any, I just really want a dog." He said quickly, trying very hard to look serious and completely into commitments, despite the fact he was in a bright yellow ball gown.

"Well," she paused, assessing him again. "Luckily for you, my partner's bitch littered 12 weeks ago, and I have two Cocker Spaniel puppies weaned and ready for purchase. My partner is Muggleborn, he loves his dogs. I understand Muggles like dogs as the preferred pet."

"Perfect, yes I'll have one, any one. And on second thought I'll have a kitten as well." George rambled, thinking suddenly that Hermione might not like dogs and she'd prefer a cat. Crookshanks had long since cracked the whip, and she'd never seemed to desire having another pet in his stead.

"You want a kitten as well," the witch repeated, her suspicious tone returning. "Are you aware of the commitment it would take to have two new pets at once? It will be hard work. Are you sure this is not a rash decision? I cannot stress the number of pets abandoned by careless and heartless people who buy new pets without thinking through all of the consequences." She was bristling with anger and contempt.

George however had had enough, "Look, I want a puppy and a kitten. I will pay you handsomely for them. I will look after them to the best of my ability; you can even come to my house to inspect it if you want. My wife loves animals, as do I."

"I will go and get the puppies for you to look at," she said reluctantly, the eyes moving to the dress again.

"Is this about my dress?" He demanded. "Do you have something against men who like to wear women's clothing? It's perfectly natural you know. I know many people that admire my sense of fashion. If you don't want my business, I'll go elsewhere, to someone who isn't as prejudice as you."

This seemed to spurn her into action, the Wizarding world still fresh from the prosecutions of prejudices against Muggleborns and Muggles regarded the word prejudice with horror and shame.

"No sir, of course not. I think you look lovely," she said, horrified and stumbled over to the dog bed that sat behind the counter. There sat a very content looking Cocker Spaniel, with two sleeping pups cuddled besides her.

George chose a liver and white little boy, who licked his hand excessively and had ears longer than his legs and kept tripping on them. The dog as well as the cat needed a lot of accessories, and the list seemed endless; so he conjured a plastic shopping bag and performed an undetectable extension charm upon it. The witch smiled at his competent magic; unbeknownst to her that Hermione had taught him, with a variety of disastrous results.

The matter of the kitten was also fairly simple; she had lots of kittens of various breeds, so he chose the smallest tortoiseshell and white kitten, who purred contentedly when he scooped her up in the crook of his arm.

He paid the witch, who still held a fairly dubious air, and promised her he would pop by regularly to update her on their progress.

* * *

Hermione was in the bathroom, when he finally sidled back to their flat; he'd had difficulty ascending the stairs, and his feet kept stepping on the vast underskirt of his gown, causing him and his companions to lurch unpleasantly to almost death. When he finally reached home, he heaved a sigh of relief, noting to himself that skirts needed to be lifted before attempting to walk in any upward direction.

George could hear her spraying something and mumbling to herself about her hair; and decided the noise was the perfect cover to settle the plastic bag on the kitchen surface, and their two new pets on the sofa. They didn't seem to mind each other that much, young enough not to have the biases that older cats and dogs do, and curled into one another falling promptly asleep.

"Darling," he announced, decided pet names would be the best way to approach this matter.

"George? Is that you? Is the shop okay?" She called out, ceasing the spraying.

"Yes, it's me. But stay where you are," George said urgently, whilst smoothing the creases from the ruffles, and casually glancing at his reflection in the hallway mirror, swallowing the anxiety clogging his throat.

"Why?" Her immediate reply was as wary as the witch in the Magical Menagerie. "What have you done now?"

"Why is it that it's me that's always done something? Maybe it was someone else," he retorted indignantly, however sensed at once that he'd just clonked his size 10 right into hot water. "Nothing's wrong, of course." He amended hurriedly.

"Somehow, I don't believe you." Her voice was growing nearer as her curiosity drew her out of the confines of the bathroom.

"No, wait!" He cried, hiding behind the door to the kitchen. "Don't look at me!"

"Nothing's wrong, huh? Yeah right." Hermione snapped, as she tried the handle to gain entrance. "Open the door George, open it right now!"

"Listen to me first," George said desperately, sweating like a pig in his effort to keep the door shut with brute force.

"Don't make me blast the door down, because I will," she threatened, leaving to go to the bedroom and grab her wand.

"No, no... I'll open it. But let me explain first."

She didn't wait long, but made a noise of assent.

"Promise you won't get mad," he urged taking another glance down and cringing. "Promise you'll forgive me."

She paused, clearly thinking of worst case scenarios. "If you've been testing products today, when I told you that today is the Ministry Electoral Presentation and we _have_ to be there," he voice rose in pitch to dangerously high. "It was bad enough that you had to go out drinking with Fred last night, I let that one go, because you promised you'd be there."

"I haven't, I swear to you right now." He said instantly, and then swallowing again. "I bought you a puppy," George added throwing it out there.

"George buying me a dog isn't going to get you anywhere until you tell me what in the name of Morgana have you done?" She shouted louder still.

Sweat rolled down his cheeks, gulping he said very quietly; "It's- it's about my dress robes."

"What. Have. You. Done?" She cried shrilly, rattling at the door handle again aggressively. "Open the door."

"Hermione, promise you won't be mad," he repeated frantically, clutching at straws.

There was the pause again; "I won't be mad, now open up or so help me-"

"I got you a kitten too; I know how you love cats, my darling wife!" He interrupted false cheeriness in his words.

"Bribery is a fools game," her words dangerously high pitched and squeaky.

George knew there was nothing for it but to bite the dust, flicking his wand at the sleeping animals so that they soared into the air and landed in his arms waking up with a jolt. They both mewled with adorable innocence, and he felt somewhat guilty that he was about to use them as a shield.

He moved aside to allow her to open the door, saying "Don't hurt me or the innocent puppy and kitten," thrusting them into her face.

Hermione eyes went straight to his face, determining the degree of seriousness before they roved downwards, to land upon the luminous garment. She was wearing a stunning set of robes in pale yellow, her hair cascading in loose waves down her back, he could smell the copious amounts of sleek-easy she'd used to maintain it. Yet, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

He expected steam out of her ears, her to shout and throw books at him; on the contrary she did none of these things, maybe it was the young pets that had thus far protected him so valiantly.

"Hah," Hermione spluttered, her face going red as she burst into the most unladylike snorts of amusement he'd ever heard come out of her mouth, and they'd been married for four years.

George nervously laughed as well, still waiting for the explosion.

"Hahaha, you're in a dress," she gasped clutching her sides with laughter.

"I'd noticed," he said dryly, but smiling.

"But how?" Hermione panted between giggles. "I- charmed- the- robes against magical intervention."

"Fred," George said grimly by way of explanation.

"Hahahahaha," was all the reply he got.

Well at least she hadn't killed him.

After a few minutes she had calmed down, but was still grinning.

"We match," she concluded cheekily, taking in her own apparel in comparison to his. "Your dress is nicer than my robes though."

"I can't say I agree, dresses are rather awkward. I still haven't got used to it, and I've been wearing one all day. Would you like to meet the new members of our family?" George suggested, holding out the kitten, which she took with a smile.

"Aww, isn't she beautiful," she murmured, holding the ball of fluff close to her chest, dismissing the notion of cat hairs.

He grinned, and stroked the puppy absentmindedly as he watched her, all the previous fears erased and left with all consuming love.

Hermione leaned forward to kiss him sweetly; before she winked and said "I always did think you'd make a good transvestite; you look bloody sexy in drag.

* * *

**In case anyone wonders, the spell Lee used is a fiddled about Latin translation of Woman Man Clothes.**

**I hope you guys liked it, thanks for reading!**

**If you like this story please vote for it on The Twin Exchange's forum page, link is on my profile.**


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